


Um...Trying To Sleep?

by CodaDelta



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, And Tony and Howard do not get along, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Shirtless Steve, Steve wears Captain America boxers, Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaDelta/pseuds/CodaDelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>University had been a new experience for Steve. It was for pretty much everyone, admittedly. Living in residence wasn't too odd for him, as he'd shared a small-ish apartment with his mother all his life, and they'd had noisy neighbors with multiple kids for years. What he couldn't get used to was the guy next door who had very loud phone arguments in several different languages at six o'clock every morning.</p><p>It was a weird way to meet Tony Stark</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Translations at the bottom))  
> So I suddenly remembered this fic after more than a year, re-read it and decided to rewrite the first couple of chapters before continuing it.

University had been a new experience for Steve. It was for pretty much everyone, admittedly. Living in residence wasn't too odd for him, as he'd shared a small-ish apartment with his mother all his life, and they'd had noisy neighbors with multiple kids for years. Adapting the conditions to drunk college kids arriving home at two in the morning wasn't too difficult. One of the things that he couldn't get used to was the guy next door who had very loud phone arguments in several different languages. There were initials on the door that said T.S and he could hear him through the walls.   
He wouldn't have minded had it ever been later than six in the morning when it started. And if, that particular morning, he'd been woken after more than five hours of sleep. Anywhere else on campus, there would have been a heavy early morning feeling, but here there was just a vague knowledge that everyone in the vacinity was irritated.  
This morning the yelling was in...Italian?

"Howard - Howard per favore, mi lasci parlare? No- papà! Non era niente. Beh, è affar tuo ciò che io sono- Oh zitto." Steve let out a long breath and sat up. He checked his alarm clock. It had been broken for three months, but he didn't seem to need it anymore. It was quarter past five. "Questa è una stronzata! Ha importanza quello che io sono- papà!" This was ridiculous. Steve climbed out of bed, running a hand through his hair and stretching the late-night studying cramps from his muscles. God it was _freezing_.  
"¡Estoy en la universidad! ¿Qué esperas que esté haciendo?" Had he switched languages? It was far too early for this. He walked over to the door and opened it, stepping out into an almost deserted hallway. There was a stray roll of toilet paper lying on the floor, a sad testament to whatever rager had died a few hours earlier.  
A guy with messy blonde hair had his head stuck out of his room, looking grumpy and very tired. Very possibly another victim of the night before. He glared at Steve, as if everything wrong with his life at the moment was his fault. "Good, you can deal with him." He said, taking his head back and slamming the door.

" Sí, en los años cincuenta!" Yeah, he was definately speaking Spanish now. "Ya dale, te reto a decir la palabra respeto una vez más"  
The door was ajar, wedged with a still-wrapped textbook, and Steve decided to ignore all of the manners his mother had taught him. He pushed it open to find a good looking, dark haired, bleary eyed guy in a crumpled t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, holding a phone slightly away from his ear.  
"¿En serio?" He was gesticulating wildly with his free hand. “¿Desagradecido? ¿Con esas estamos? Bravo, papá, gracias."  
He looked round, caught sight of Steve, and held up a finger. He turned his attention back to his phone call.  
"Howard, mira-¡escucha! Tengo que cortar" He looked back at Steve and rolled his eyes. ""Howard, no estoy siendo atrevido, me tengo que ir. Chao.""  
He threw the phone onto the bed and collapsed next to it, letting out a long groan. "Can I ask why you're at my door with your shirt off?" He asked behind his fingers as he dragged his hands over his face. Steve was confused.   
"My wha-" He glanced down and immediately went red. Oh. His shirt. He'd taken it off before he went to bed. "Oh." Well that was embarrassing. The guy grinned at him behind his hands. "Well," He tried for the defensive, "can I ask who you were yelling at?...And possibly your name."  
"Tony Stark. That was my dad. I wake you up?"  
"Me and half the dorm. Several times."  
"Sorry. I'm used to soundproofing." Tony's hands slapped down onto the bed.  
"And you were yelling at someone in different languages because..."  
"It pisses him off to the ends of the earth."  
"Who were you arguing with?"  
"My asshole of a father."

The phone began to vibrate. "Please tell me there's an emergency that means I can't take this call."  
Steve shrugged. "I got nothing."  
"You're useless." Tony picked up the phone. "Howard, c'è un ragazzo a torso nudo attraente alla mia porta. Ciao."  
He threw the device back down onto the bed and began to resolutely ignore it as it started buzzing.  
"So, shirtless man with the rock hard abs," He said, turning back to Steve. "What can I do for you and your Captain America boxers?" He asked, and Steve felt all the blood rush to his face again . "If you've come here to seduce me," Tony continued, evidently completely unaware of Steve's embarrassment as he struggled for a response, "then I'll at least have to know your name."  
"It's- uh- well, my- uh," Steve choked out, he thought he'd at least have worn pyjama bottoms or something. "it's not like-"  
Thankfully, Tony cut him off. "I'm screwing with you. It was to get me to shut up, right?"  
"To put it bluntly."  
"'Kay, well, if you do me a favour then you won't have to worry about me again."  
Steve eyed Tony warily. From the way he talked, his 'favour' may not be something that he wanted to get involved in. He had to sort of hyper-active energy in his eyes that small children do after having way too much sugar. Except on him it looked a little more psychotic.  
"What sort of favour?"  
"I just need you to come and sit next to me and not move for like two minutes."  
"Why?"  
"It's a guarantee that my father won't call me for a month."

Steve had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what Tony had in mind, but he did as he was asked, plonking himself on the bed next to him. Tony grabbed the phone, which was still buzzing furiously. He hit the answer button, and Steve heard 'Tony-' before Tony pressed the icon for a video chat. Steve found himself frozen in place as the screen flipped and he was met with the face of a very angry looking man with a moustache and a receding hairline. He should have dived sideways out of view, but Tony had grabbed his arm with his free hand, as if to say 'you're not going anywhere'.  
"Hey, Dad!" He said cheerily to his father, who's face was becoming more and more red. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"  
"Anthony Edward Stark-"  
"Howard Anthony Walter Stark." Tony deadpanned, cutting him off.  
"Don't you dare take that tone with me." That was when he noticed Steve. A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Who in the hell...?"  
He trailed off, letting his son answer. Tony pulled a thinking face. "I wanna say... Glen?" He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows, giving him the queue to talk. It took the blonde a second to find his voice, but he eventually croaked out a feeble 'Steve Rogers'.  
"Anthony, what on earth are you doing?"  
"I'll leave that up to your interpretation, Howard." Howard’s eyebrow twitched.  
"Anthony-"  
Tony hit the 'end call' button before his father could finish. The phone didn't ring again.

"My poor mother." Tony flopped back down onto his bed. "Thanks, Steve Rogers."  
Steve let out a laugh. "Anytime."  
Tony grinned at him. "Really? Because I would never have to talk to him again. Plus, it's not like it's a bad view."  
Steve blanched. From the guy's tone, Steve couldn't tell if Tony was joking or not. He wouldn't put it past him. Was he actually hitting on him? Apparently yes, because Tony asked. "Do you have a class this morning?"  
"It's Sunday."  
"Really? Well I've missed some classes then." Tony checked his watch. "Well, I need to finish what I was working on when dad called. So why don't you go get dressed and we'll get coffee at around...ten?"  
"Are you seriously asking me out?"  
Tony pulled an face of exaggerated computation. "Well seeing as I’m asking if you would like to join me in an activity outside of this room at a later date, and you’ve already appeared shirtless in front of my father, I think I might be, Mr. Rogers."  
It was certainly the weirdest way he'd been asked, but not by the least attractive guy.  
"If you promise not to call me that, then I'll see you at ten, Mr. Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speak neither Italian nor Spanish, so I committed the mortal sin of using Google Translate for this story.  
> Thanks to IronDork 98 for Spanish translations!
> 
> What I was going for (before Translate inevitably butchered the Italian) in chronological order was:  
> "Howard - Howard would you please let me talk? No- Dad!  
> "It was nothing. Well, it's none of your business what I'm- Oh shut up ."  
> "That's bullshit! Does it matter what I'm- Dad!"  
> "I'm at college! What do you expect me to be doing?!"  
> "Yeah, in the fifties! Oh yeah, say the word respect one more time, I dare you!"  
> "Really, really? Ungrateful? That's what you're going with? Great, dad, thanks!"  
> "Howard, listen- listen! I have to go."  
> "Howard, I'm not being mouthy, I have to go. Bye."  
> "Howard, there's an attractive shirtless guy at my door. Bye."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past me needs to learn to spell.

Going out with Tony was nice.

He appeared at Steve's door about twenty minutes late with keys and wallet in hand. He'd shaved and changed his clothes, but promised that this was actually very punctual for him. After ribbing Steve for a further five minutes about his shirt, which was similar to his underwear as he hadn't had any other clean clothes, they left for a not-quite-starbucks. They conducted the basic introductions that one generally does _before_ seeing the other half naked whilst in line at the counter.  
Over a black coffee and a shut-up-Rogers-it's-not-a-stupid-drink-but-Tony-the-poor-barista-don't-worry-Cindy-likes-me they finally managed a decent conversation.  
"So apart from your…” Steve made a point of squinting at the cardboard cup on the table with half an essay written on the side “venti, half and half, 10 pumps of vanilla extra whip coffee- that honestly would kill a lesser man- what else should I know?"  
Tony popped the top off of his drink, stuck a spoon into the goop and swirled it around. It honestly looked like a heart attack in a cup. "I'm an engineering major, but with physics. I like building robots and I'm programming an AI. My dad's an asshole...and he also owns StarkIndustries, which is super fun all the time. J-"  
"Your dad owns StarkIndustries?!" Steve interrupted him, causing a vague annoyance to flit across his features. "Sorry. Just...sorry. Kind of wow." Though big CEOs weren't usually the press' first choice of exposé victims, there'd been quite a lot circling a few years ago. Steve remembered something about the kid- Tony, apparently- and an explosion in a school science lab. Probably why his name had sounded vaguely familiar. It was the sort of story his mother would have let out a ‘worried noise’ over of a morning. She had a penchant for feeling worried for other people’s children.  
Tony took a deep swig of his coffee. He wiggled his eyebrows at Steve’s mock disgusted expression. "Anyway," He sat up straight. "your turn."  
"What?"  
"Tell me about yourself."  
Steve sat up, following Tony's cue of drinking before he talked. The coffee was good, though Tony's was making him feel slightly ill. "Well, I'm an art major, but I was thinking of joining the military after school. I'm from Brooklyn."  
"Thought I heard an accent."

They went back and forth for a while. Tony, he learnt, was born in Long Island, had built two conventional robots and one with a very limited AI, hardly slept, and did not get on with his father. Steve told him about Brooklyn, Bucky, school, and his art scholarship. It was easy to talk to Tony. He made the conversation smooth and pleasant, and they ended up drinking three more coffees each- Tony's each more ridiculous than the last- and he ended up with the brunette's number in his back pocket on a napkin.  
They got a sandwich before Tony said he had to get back to his latest creation, and Steve remembered an art assignment he had due on Tuesday.  
Tony may or may not have patted his butt as he left.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony didn't bother calling him the next time they spoke. There'd been no early morning shouting matches for a few days and people around the dorm seemed somewhat less grouchy. It was a wonder no one had told him to shut up before. It was a rainy Wednesday afternoon, and Steve was lying on his bed, halfway through a recommended article about Polykleitos when Tony knocked on his open door.  
He sat up, the thick wad of printed pages sliding off his knees and onto the floor. "Hey."  
"You busy?"  
"Eh, no, not really. Why?"  
"I need your arm for something."  
"My arm? You're not going to cut it off, right?"  
"I can't promise anything."  
"Well that's incredibly reassuring."  
"I would have thought my charm and easy patter would've calmed any doubts almost instantly."  
"You wish."  
"I'm not offering you candy from a van. Can I borrow you?"

Steve slid off his bed and followed Tony round the corner, tugging his door closed behind them. Tony's room was a complete mess and uncomfortably cold. There were assorted computer parts all over both beds, and a stack of used mugs on the windowsill. A large pile of clothes had made its home against one wall and heaps of paper littered the desk and one of the beds.  
"Does your roommate mind you using this place as a mechanics bin?" Steve queried as Tony swept aside some parts and gestured to the bed dramatically.  
"I don't think I have one. Or if I do then they never showed up. Or they did and hated me. I don't know. Where's yours?"  
Steve sat down as Tony turned to the more cluttered desk and began picking things up. "Lives with his girlfriend."  
He'd only met the guy a couple of times. He'd taken some years out, and his girlfriend of several years lived close by. He'd turned up on the first day, dropped a duffel on his bed, introduced himself as 'Frank', and left. He was hardly even on campus. Tony hummed absentmindedly. "His loss."  
"Not really. He can probably get a decent night's sleep without being woken up at an ungodly hour in the morning."  
"For someone so pretty, you are so rude." He turned around, holding what looked like a hollow prosthetic in his hands. Two braces were connected with a mess of wires and it looked like it could electrocute him at thrity paces. There were straps looping around the join and switches in various places along the frame. A small, thick disk hung off the end, barely connected and supported by two of Tony’s fingers. He held it as one might a new born baby.  
"And where exactly are you going to put that?"  
"Ha. Funny. Stick your arm out." Steve did as he was told gingerly and Tony slid the frame on.  
"Why are you putting objects from a victorian sci-fi novel on me?"  
"I needed two hands to work on it, and my stand melted."  
"And this is safe to put on my very vulnerable human flesh?"  
"Oh shush." He began prodding it in various places with a finger. "But your arm's beefier than mine, so it might be a bit uncomfortable."  
Steve did a mock pout that went completely unnoticed and Tony turned around to grab a screwdriver and stick it in his mouth.  
"Don't call me beefy like I'm not here."  
"Dnf git awl pmnty." Tony said around the screwdriver, fastening a couple of the straps on the underside of the forearm brace. "Iffs a cumplemunt." He took it out of his mouth and started tightening different components. Steve wasn't sure if he was supposed to stay quiet and let him get on or not. Evidently the latter, as after holding some things taught and straightening them for a minute, Tony told him to stop holding his breath and make some conversation.

"So what is this thing you're poking me with?"  
"Wearable vambrace with half power miniature repulsor on the palm."  
"Sounds complicated."  
"I do that to sound clever."  
"Would never have guessed. Ow!"  
Tony had poked him with the screwdriver. "Don't be rude."

They didn't talk for the next few minutes as Tony made adjustments. Concentration looked good on him as his brow creased and he stuck his tongue between his lips.  
"Are you just going to stare at me, or?"  
"What do you want me to say?"  
"I don't know. Tell me your life story?"  
"I'm not an old lighthouse keeper."  
"Sorry not sorry, Stevie Wonder. Get up."  
He pulled Steve up by the wrist and positioned him so that his arm was stretched out in front of him, palm up. It didn't quite fit properly so it was a little tight as Tony shifted it up and down his forearm. He fiddled for a while before sliding it off Steve's arm, muttering about further calibrations on himself.  
"Thanks for that." He said absently, placing the apparatus down on the desk again. "Big help."  
"No problem. I'll see you later?"  
"Ooh, someone's eager."  
"Shut up, Tony."


	3. Chapter 3

Their fifth date was Mario Kart in Steve's room. Admittedly, it was less of a date and more of an excuse for friends to gawk; because apparently Bucky missed nothing, and had promised that if Steve didn't let him meet and appropraitely threaten his new boyfriend then he was going to strangle him whilst he slept.   
Alongside he-who-threatened-physical-violence, Steve also invited Sam- a friend he went running with- and Natasha, who he knew from his weekly martial arts class. She, in turn, brought her friend Clint. He'd met Clint a few times, and liked him well enough. Tony brought two friends, Rhodey and Bruce. He'd known Rhodey a long time, and apparently Bruce was in some of his classes. Both seemed nice enough, though Bruce was quiet, and Rhodey seemed to live in a perpetual state of Tony induced exasperation.  
Once everyone was assembled, they shoved the two beds together and stacked them heavily with blankets and pillows. Bucky had managed to commandeer a television from somewhere- Tony had put his foot through his in an incident he refused to explain. The game had started amiably enough, when it was still the awkward name-learning phase, but then they were given controllers it started to get much more violent.  
"Who just hit me with a fucking blue shell?  
"Me. Eyes on the road, Barton."  
"You're supposed to be on my side!"  
"I made no promises."  
"Buck, stop cutting in front of me."  
"Bite me."  
"I would if I had a biting...plant...thing."  
"It's called a Pirahna Plant, Steve."  
"Yeah, because that sounds completely different."  
"What the hell was that?"  
"S'called a boomerang."  
"Eat...this. Shit!"  
"Real smooth."  
"Rhodey, you shut your mouth."  
"Banner, what the hell?!"  
"Ow!"

It was at this point a gummy bear hit Steve in the eye. He tossed his controller at his assumed assailant's head, but it fell short of Bucky and hit Sam instead. It took a few seconds before the room descended into chaos and multiple shoes, pillows, and controllers began flying everywhere. After Bruce almost broke his thumb Bucky declared a ceasefire and Clint decided that they needed pizza. Tony called dibs on ordering and hauled Bruce along with him, clambering over the assorted limbs and digging his phone out of his pocket. Clint excused himself to go to the toilet and Sam disappeared under a bed to find his shoes.  
Steve attempted to wiggle out from under Bucky's leg, both of which he'd draped over his knees, only to have a foot pushed closer to his face.   
"So, Steve," said Natasha, tucking her legs underneath her and pulling a gummy bear out of her hair. "Is it a Brooklyn specialty to be humiliated at video games?"  
"Ask Bucky."  
Bucky flipped him off, craning his neck to smirk at him. "Eat my entire ass, Stevie." He said, pushing his foot closer to Steve's face, who leaned backwards, cracking his back loudly in the process.  
"That's-"   
Steve held up a finger to interrupt Natasha, then pulled Bucky's sock off and threw it at him. "If you say 'Tony's job' I will kill you."  
"Can I point out that saying 'Tony's job' didn't make sense?" Asked Sam from under the bed. "Unless you have a very open relationship."  
"I didn't know you were a Mormon, Steve."  
"Oh my God, Bucky you're so funny."  
"Yeah, I should be on stage."  
"They wouldn't be laughing with you."  
"Fuck you, Steve."  
Natasha opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Too easy."  
Bucky displayed exaggerated mock offense. "Don't call him easy, he's a good boy."  
"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Asked Tony from the doorway, phone in hand with his thumb over the microphone. "Who wants Pepsi?"  
"Me!" Clint appeared from the bathroom alarmingly fast. Nat rolled her eyes at him.  
"Clint, wash your hands."  
"Yes, _mom_." He did as he was told as Tony resumed the phone conversation and walked out of the room. Bruce reappeared a few seconds later. "Pizza's coming. Tony's arguing semantics with a guy down the hall."   
"As in?"  
"What counts as too loud for six in the morning."  
"Tony. Tony counts as too loud for six in the morning."  
Bucky spluttered. "Steve. You can't compain about us when you walk right into-"  
"No. No. No no no." Steve waved a hand and then pointed at him accusingly. "Shut up, Buck."  
Bucky's foot went into his face again. Steve whacked his ankle, which unfortunately hit Sam in the face, who had finally recovered his shoe and come out from under the bed. "What the hell, man? I didn't come here to be physically abused."  
"It's not abuse, it's-"  
"Friendly fire."

After a few more rounds, two pizzas, and more do-overs than several of them would admit- Tony and Rhodey had at least three, Bucky wouldn't be satisfied until he was compensated for 'Steven Grant Rogers' filthy disgusting cheating', and Clint was ready to fight Natasha to a violent and bitter death- it ended up after one in the morning.   
Bruce left early, excusing himself on account of having class in the morning. Tony followed to let him out of the building and show him where to get a cab. Rhodey, who couldn't be bothered going home, surrendered and went round the corner to sleep in Tony's room. Nat excused herself to a corner and dozed. Sam went home, throwing a piece of pizza at Steve as he left, and Bucky refused to go at all, hunching on the bed like a squatter goblin and letting Clint, who was on an impressively juvenile sugar high, plait his hair.

Steve attempted a clean up, folding pizza boxed into the rubbish pin and tossing the occasional pillow and Bucky's head. Eventually he turned to the two five year olds and snorted. "You look very pretty, Buck."  
"Yes he does." Said Clint proudly, padding him on the head. "Looks better than a man bun."  
He let them play together until Clint fell asleep and Bucky started poking at his feet. He turned over and raised his eyebrows at him.  
"Can I help you?"  
Bucky grinned at him as if he'd found new prey. "I like him, Steve."  
Steve decided to be facetious. "Who, Clint? Good, he made you look real swell."  
"'Real swell'?"  
"You make a pretty dame."  
"Steve. Stop it. It's embarassing for both of us."  
"I think it was-"  
"Steven."  
They used to talk like that when they were kids- all sharp edges and back street slang taken from the guys round their area of Brooklyn who'd served during the war and still talked like it was the 1940s. One was Bucky's grandfather and they used to think it was unbelievably cool. His mother had always found it tremendously funny.  
"Yeah, okay. What were you going to say?"  
"I like him, Stevie. He's funny. I know you've been down in the mouth since what happened with Peggy, but-"  
"Don't wanna talk about that." Said Steve bluntly. He really didn't want to talk about it now. What had happened with Peggy was a no go area.   
"We're not talking about that." Bucky pointed out, shifting over the bed to put his feet back on Steve's stomach and rest on Clint, who he'd clearly taken a liking to. "I was just saying, I know you've been a bit miserable when it comes to...stuff like that, and he's nice."  
"I know."

\--------------------------------------------------------

They drifted out in the morning, bleary eyed and full of cramps whilst Steve and Tony began putting the room back into a reasonable state.  
"Someone left a sock."  
"'S Bucky's."  
"The height of sophisticated living."  
"What did you expect?"   
"Was fun though." Tony walked over and handed him the sock as if it were an amazing gift. "Did I get their approval?"  
"Maybe."  
"Well." Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. He had to get up onto tiptoes to do it properly. "Do I get yours?"  
"We're going to have to think about that."  
"I just want to know when you're going to update your Facebook status."  
"What, you want a party?"  
"Well, my birthday _is_ in four to eight months."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's shorter, but the next one will be soon

James Barnes had always been the tactile sort, and he was never one to call with news. Steve knew as much, but was still taken by surprise by the full body tackle as he was walking back from an afternoon workshop class.  
The snow was coming down hard as it had been all day. Students were either slipping and sliding as they sprinted so as not to be caught up in it, or shuffling around to avoid falling flat. Bucky refused to announce himself, but instead there was a scuffling noise and then a smack as his friend hit him in the back, arm looping round Steve's neck to steady himself, almost strangling him in the process. His cheeks were flushed red and there was a grin smeared across his face. He'd obviously been running, and was almost bouncing where he stood.  
"Don't do that. You could've killed me. What are you so excited about?" Asked Steve, still half wheezing. Bucky grabbed his upper arms.  
"I got in. I passed the medical. They want me, Stevie." His grin was from ear to ear.  
"The 107th?"  
"Yup. I'm now Private James Barnes."

The news stunned him for a good few seconds. Bucky didn't actually attend university, but rather had been living nearby for the past couple of months to be closer to his now ex-girlfriend and a military training base. He'd put in his application to join the armed forces a few months back, and, until now, Steve hadn't really processed it. They'd both talked about joining the army when they were teenagers and, while Bucky's family had wished him well, Sarah Rogers had expressly forbidden it after what happened to Steve's father. Steve blinked a few times. He supposed he'd not yet properly considered the possibility that his friend would be able to do it without him so soon. The dip in Bucky's smile showed him that his reaction was a little slow.  
He grinned and Bucky swung an arm around his shoulders, causing both of them to slip a little on the icy ground.  
"That's great, Buck. When are you shipping out?"  
Bucky shrugged. "Dunno."  
"Come on, then. I'm freezing my tits off. Let's get a drink."

They found a local student pub that did food with a heavy carpet and three radiators, grabbing a table as near to one as they could. While Bucky shrugged his sweatshirt off, Steve went to get sandwiches. He hovered over a laminated menu, attempting to compose himself and not look too disappointed. He was happy for Bucky- of course he was. He was determined to not be put out about it, and just be glad for him. Steve ordered a couple of sandwiches he knew both of them would like and walked back over to their table while the waitress went back to put them together. Bucky had decided to be a nuisance for the table staff and order drinks while he was gone. He held out Steve's latte and warmed his hands over his own coffee dramatically.

"So, do you know about training yet?"  
"They said they would send me something with 'information enclosed'. Guy who did the medical looked like old Randy Corman from down our street."  
"Mustache and everything?"  
"No. Which was weirder, actually."   
"Did he look at your penis?"  
"Is that really the first thing you think about?"  
"When you tell me the examiner looked like Randy Corman, yes." The waitress approached their table with a tray and a fake smile.  
"You two seem to be having a good time." Bucky turned to her with a dazzling smile Steve recognised all too well.  
"I've had some very good news."  
"Oh?" She set the sandwiches down in the middle of the table and Steve reached for one, though he suddenly found he had no appetite.  
"I've been accepted for military training."  
"Well, there's something about a soldier."  
"Is that so? You know, my friend here is an artist." She turned her gaze on him. "Really?" He smiled and gave her a brief nod. He didn't want to play the double act right now.  
"Can I ask your name?" Her attention was on Bucky again.  
"James. But people call me Bucky."  
"I'm Bernie. You let me know if you need anything."  
"Will do, thanks." They watched her retreat to the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she went.   
"You know she's only flirting with you for tips."  
"Most likely. But I'm not going to be rude to a waitress who's only doing her job."  
"You know you're not looking for a G.I bride, right?" Bucky gave him a look. He knew how to cut through Steve's bullshit, no matter how smiley he decided to be.  
"Listen, Stevie, I know this is what we both wanted. And I know you were crushed when Sarah-" He paused, obviously rethinking the lack of tact. "What I mean is that I'm not gonna play over the top with it if-"  
Steve snorted. "You're gonna try and keep quiet about something you're happy about just because Ma said no? Like you ever could. Really- I'm happy for ya, Buck."  
Bucky gave him one of his lopsided smiles. "You know, this would be easier if you were still scrawny."  
Steve shrugged. "I'm very sorry."

He left Bucky to call his mother and stopped by his room to drop off his books before heading out for a run. It was disgustingly cold and uncomfortable to begin with, but he needed to clear his head. He hit his default mile mark and veered off to the left.  
He was feeling disoriented and, as he made a lap, slightly breathless. He'd been going faster than usual, but the sensation only made him speed up. He'd had serious asthma and a compromised immune system as a kid and took every opportunity to revel in feeling he was reaping the benefits of no longer having either. He'd been a part of cure-all drug medical trial when he was younger. It'd been rejected for some oversights before proceeding to human test subjects, and the scientist leading the research had died in an accident a few months later so there was no chance of its revival. He would have been perfect for the army.   
Steve continued to run, chest heaving as he started to sweat. It wasn't pleasant, but the burn was oddly satisfying. Running helped take his mind off of things- he didn't want to think about Bucky. It sounded petulant, but it wasn't fair. They'd been practically joined at the hip since they were seven, and technically- _technically_ \- it had been his idea. His father had died in combat when Steve was little, and he'd always wanted to serve. Always. And he wasn't going to get it. He couldn't hold it against Bucky- of course he couldn't- he'd worked hard. So had Steve. He was happy for him, naturally, but it stung. Steve berated himself. This wasn't worth getting upset over. He had his art, he had his boyfriend, and he still, technically, had Bucky. But he wouldn't. That's what he was upset over, he told himself, as he made a sharp right turn.

Steve's run ended in him giving in to the pains in his chest, hands on knees, a ten minute walk from home.


End file.
